


Autumn’s Verse

by TheFaye92



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Poetry, Dash of Humor, Fluff, M/M, Not Even a Taste of Despair, POV Third Person Limited, Written for my Best Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaye92/pseuds/TheFaye92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short little story written for my best friend using the prompt: reading in the shade of a tree. </p>
<p>Dorian reads a little poetry to soothe the savage beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn’s Verse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enc0432](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enc0432/gifts).



> This one-shot is written for my best friend, enc0432. She has gone through every word of my romance/adventure story Two-Hundred Roses and I wanted to write her a little something to show my appreciation. Please enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: all character, places, etc. etc. etc. property of Bioware etc. etc. etc. The poem, however, if completely original.

**Autumn’s Verse**

The air was crisp and tangled with the musky scent of decaying leaves and the sweetness of apples. The sun was at its peak, the warmth streamed through the leaves of the apple tree. Dorian sat in the shade enjoying the last dregs of autumn before winter came and swallowed the land in ice. Mahanon was there too, albeit in the tree. _But_ , Dorian thought, _at least he’s here._

Above, the tree shook gently and bunch of leaves shook loose from the branches, covering the book Dorian was trying to read. “Amatus,” Dorian slid the leaves off the pages and looked up to see the spry elf sitting on the branch directly above him. “You’re getting leaves all over my book,”

Mahanon laughed, a throaty glorious laugh that Dorian had fallen in love with the moment he’d heard it. “Why don’t you join me?”

“Climb a tree he says!” Dorian chuckled. “When have I ever looked like the kind of man who would climb a tree by _choice?_ ” he turned a page in his book and said; “Perhaps you should join me, I’ll even read to you. Some of this poetry might soothe your savage heart,”

“Savage heart?” Mahanon swung down from the branch and landed gracefully on the ground. “You’re said nothing about my savage heart the other night,” he was laughing. It warmed Dorian’s heart to know he took all jests with mirth and not with insult. “So what are you reading?”

“Some Ferelden poetry—I borrowed it from Cassandra.” And it was actually a decent book. Who knew those straight-backed, practical dog lords had it in them?

“And does the Seeker know you’ve borrowed it?”

“I won’t tell her if you won’t,” Dorian smirked.

Mahanon sat down beside him then set his head in his lap. Despite the coolness of the Hinterland air Dorian felt a rush of heat come over it. It was a rare moment of public affection and he would not squander it. Gently, he traced the Inquisitor’s ear and then ran his fingers through the elf’s feathery hair. Mahanon closed his emerald eyes and yawned.

“This is boring,”

“Amatus,” Dorian sighed. “Did you see that? That was our romantic moment flying away.”

“Argh, I wish Bull and Sera would get back soon.”

“This is a lovely place to make camp, we should stay here.” Dorian grumbled. They were always moving, there was never a moment’s rest. And yes, it was supremely important to stop Corypheus and his ilk, but that didn’t meant they couldn’t appreciate a minute of softness.

Dorian decided that he was not going to let another day be swallowed up by mud and blood and cold. When Mahanon tried to get up, Dorian placed a gently, but unwavering hand on his chest to stop him. “Stay,” he said. “And listen to this;”

_Though the harsh winter is around me_

_And death backs me into corners where all dark things linger_

_Even when the cold notion of the Maker’s abandonment strikes heavy in my heart_

_I am left without fear,without anger_

_For the sweetness of your breath guides me home,_

_The honey of your lips gives me sustenance_

_And I am not abandoned when my thoughts linger upon you._

Mahanon was silent and Dorian closed his book. The elf sat up kissed Dorian and laughed; “That was truly terrible,”

“Savage,” Dorian shook his head, but didn’t mean it.

The Inquisitor jumped up and helped Dorian to his feet. Dorian brushed the dirt and leaves from his robes and smiled as Mahanon ran off to greet Bull and Sera who were now coming up the road. Dorian knew, deep in his heart, that he would always love his wild elf and terrible poetry.

**Author's Note:**

> So I dabble in poetry, I’m not particularly good at it, but this little thing just begged to be written so I had to do it. If you managed to stomach it and want something more, try my other story, Two-Hundred Roses. If you want more Mahanon and Dorian, try enc0432.


End file.
